A Trip Down Memory Lane
by Eris Dea Disaccordo
Summary: [Repost. Five-shot. Reaper!Bones. M for language.] His effort of blowing up the Arc was now nullified by the advancement of technology, by Man's audacity to reach for the stars and boldly go where no man has gone before. Fuck.
1. Chapter 1

Olduvai.

Motherfucking Olduvai.

Would he never get rid of that place?

Some part of Leonard McCoy noticed how wide a berth his staff was giving him as he stuffed a bag with everything he needed for the mission, but he couldn't really give a fuck about them right now. He was restless—agitated—more so than usual, and none of them would even begin to understand why. His lips were pressed into a thin line as he swept through his Medical facility, grabbing this and that from here and there, his eyes, hands and feet on autopilot as he packed his kit.

None of them dared to ask why he didn't just take the standard bag he always brought.

Olduvai.

Sonovabitch.

_Olduvai_.

He didn't want to go to Olduvai. Not again. Not after everything he'd lost, after everything that godforsaken place had taken from him. Parents. Family. Life.

Death.

He'd give anything to go back to being a human being, because Olduvai had taken that from him too. Fucking Olduvai. And fucking Star Fleet, wanting to make Mars a testing ground for their new Genesis technology. His effort of blowing up the Arc was now nullified by the advancement of technology, by Man's audacity to reach for the stars and boldly go where no man has gone before.

Fuck.

"Doctor McCoy?" He almost snarled at the intrusion, though he'd registered her movements and anticipated her enough to keep himself in check. "The Captain paged… He's waiting for you at the bridge."

Did she think he was deaf?

"I heard him," he replied curtly, his eyes turning away from her to inspect his kit and decided that Dr. McCoy was as ready as he'll ever be.

Now it was Reaper's turn to saddle up.

* * *

By the time he reached the bridge, he was one minute late, a fact that First Officer Spock immediately announced with clear disapproval. Leonard snapped at him and told him where he could shove it while pulling on his—admittedly unneeded, but no one else knew that—auto-converter air mask. Jim, ignorant of what was causing his mood, tried to tell him to just stay on the Enterprise, which of course made him all the more angry.

"Just fucking energize already!" he groused at Scotty, who blinked once and quickly pressed the button, sending them down via transporter. Yet another reason to hate the goddamn teleportation pad—it reminded him too much of the Arc's unique method of travel, minus the obligatory nausea and subsequent puke that was sure to follow.

"I hate this fucking place," he muttered, glaring at the familiar walls of the Atrium, hating that even after two centuries, it was still so hauntingly recognizable. The walls were no longer a clean white color, and the floor was covered with a similar layer of dust disturbed only by the people he was with.

Good. That means no one's been here since he last left it.

"What the hell is this?" Glancing over briefly, he spied Captain James T. Kirk wrinkling his nose at a lump of burnt flesh, and with a jolt, he realized—

Sarge.

Memories he'd buried deep into the recess of his mind came flooding back. Training. Missions. Camaraderie. His team—Sarge, Mac, Goat, Destroyer, Duke, Portman, Kid. Goat, crashing on his impromptu operation table. Mac, killed in a laboratory with only half his head connected to his neck. Destroyer, beaten to death. Portman, bashed and burnt. Kid, shot by his own Commander during his first and only mission. Duke, pulled through the grates like a rag. Sarge—

_Sarge._

He'd known Sarge was dead, of course. He killed Sarge himself, sending him and a grenade through the Arc before it closed. He'd relied on the ST grenade to destroy the Mars Arc permanently, to ensure that none of the surviving mutants, if any, could follow to Earth.

If any. Ha! Jim Kirk's capacity for attracting trouble practically ensured that there were still some of his old demons lingering in this hell.

_His _demons, not theirs. It's why he came with them. After all, while Spock may be a match for their strength, they were fast motherfuckers, and Spock couldn't protect the away team on his own.

Not with his sense of morals and the fucking Prime Directive anyway.

"Bones, what do you think?" Jim asked, breaking through his thoughts. Leonard looked back just in time to see Jim lightly kicking the carcass in front of him, and he jerked at his friend's actions, a reprimand for respect on his lips before he caught himself and bit down hard to keep the admonishment from escaping him. "Looks kinda human."

"Humanoid?" Spock asked, stepping next to Jim. "Fascinating."

_Fuck you_, John Grimm wanted to say, but he was Leonard McCoy now, so John Grimm had to shut up. "Step away from the potentially infected dead body," he barked instead, glaring at Jim. The Captain balked at the look and moved away quickly. "Why don't you guys search the area? I'll follow you after I gather some samples from it."

Jim frowned, and surprisingly, Spock almost did the same. "I don't think that's a good idea," the Captain said.

"I concur, Dr. McCoy," Spock added. "Leaving you alone in an unsecure site—"

"Spock," Leonard cut him off, the irritation seeping back in, replacing the painful nostalgia that had burst through his veins, "take a good look around. Everything here is dead."

"You have a point," Spock allowed. "Nevertheless, it is…inadvisable to separate."

"This place is freaky," Sulu added, glancing at the fried, practically ancient computers and the dead body in front of it.

Leonard sighed at their reluctance to leave him and detached his phaser from his belt. "I've got this," he told him, waving it slightly before returning it to his side. "If I run into trouble—which I won't—I promise to use it. Okay? Let's not waste time here. It's illogical, right?" he added with a roll of his eyes.

"It is," Spock nodded, glancing at Jim as he spoke. "Captain?"

Jim was quiet for a moment, before he sighed and nodded at me. "Fine. Keep your communicator open, okay? And talk to us."

Leonard raised an eyebrow at his request, but made a show of doing as Jim said. "I'll be with you in a bit," he said, picking up his kit and heading over to the…to Sarge. Jim and the others loitered a bit before finally heading through the hole in the vault door, and Leonard put down his things, steadying the shake of his hands.

What was he doing here? Why did he have them leave him alone with his ghosts? It was, as Spock would tell him, illogical for him to do so.

God, he must be getting really messed up if he had Spock's voice in his head telling him that things were 'illogical.'

He didn't touch Sarge. Instead, he went behind one of the pillars and attached a hastily-built bomb. It had enough juice in it to level the entire facility, though to be honest, he was still drawing a blank on how he was going to explain the destruction of the compound.

Fixing the frequency to connect only to his communicator, Leonard pushed away from the device and stood, picking up his kit and taking off after the others, his ears already tuning to find Jim's familiar noises. Jim was, admittedly, Leonard McCoy's lifeline. Whenever he was experiencing an identity crisis, he would think of Jim, the unexpected companion he'd found on a random shuttle ride to a new life. When he felt lost and alone, he would go to Jim, who would always give him enough attention to push away the melancholic mood. When being immortal felt too much to handle, a few hours with Jim would make him feel less like a freak and more like a simple man just hanging out with his best friend.

James Tiberius Kirk had been a godsend, which was crazy because he had been born in hell.

Fucking Olduvai.

Leonard found them in the weapons lab, with Jim and Ensign Porter ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the two century old ordinance. John Grimm twitched, tempted to run his finger over the old, familiar weaponry. Leonard has to admit, he missed the therapeutically soothing motions of cleaning a gun.

Phasers didn't need cleaning, but they just couldn't compare to the feeling of a good, solid gun in hand.

"Enjoying yourselves?" he asked wryly, grinning when everyone, except Spock of course, jumped in place and spun around with phasers out. Leonard didn't bother ducking the bolt of light the ensign shot at him—it sailed over his shoulder harmlessly. "Right."

"Sorry, sir!" she squeaked, immediately dropping her phaser. Leonard waved it off, making a note to ensure that the next ensign on the away team would be more competent with their aim. This was exactly why Jim got into trouble all the time!

"That was quick, Bones," Jim said, looking down at his communicator. "You didn't talk to me?"

Leonard shrugged. "Like Sulu said, this place is freaky. I cut a piece of skin and took off immediately."

"Why, Bones! Were you…_scared?_" Jim teased, blinking innocently up at him. The image was ruined by the quick twist of his lips, the smirk betraying his amusement.

Anything Leonard could have said in reply to that was lost when Chekov patched through to Leonard's communicator. "Chekov to Doktor McCoy. Come in, Doktor."

Leonard felt his innards go cold even as he answered, "McCoy here."

"Doktor, as per your instruksion, I 'ave managed to set ze skanner to search for 'eat signatures in ze facility." Everyone glanced up at Leonard curiously even as the Doctor moved to close the doors, just in case, because Chekov was taking too long in providing him with the information he needed, damn it! "Akording to ze skanner, zer are only six 'eat signatures—"

Leonard stopped listening, and he knew he didn't have to look at the others to know that they'd become more alert as well. Chekov said there were six heat signatures in the facility.

There were only five of them in the room.


	2. Chapter 2

"Chekov, where is the sixth heat signature coming from?" Leonard asked urgently, as Jim moved to stand next to him.

Chekov was silent for a moment. "Sir, I don't unzerstand. You're all togezer, yes?" Yeah, that was pretty much the signal Ensign Porter needed to start panicking and whirl around, looking for an invisible enemy. Hell, _Jim_ looked freaked as well. Only Spock and Sulu remained grim-faced, and the latter reached for his sword, expanding the blade in a series of loud _schlick-schlick-schlicks!_

"Chekov, the only people assigned to come down here is Kirk, Spock, Sulu, Ensign Porter and me," Leonard told him.

"Vhat?!" Chekov said, startled. "Zen who is ze sixth—?"

"That would probably be the bad guy who'll eventually beat Jim up," the good doctor groused, eyes roving the room to take into account all the items he could use. It was pure luck that they had stopped at the weapons lab. At least here, Leonard could—

No, not Leonard. The doctor had no place here right now. To face a mutant, one had to be a mutant as well.

It was Reaper who had to come out and play.

"Thanks a lot," Jim pouted, but there was no mistaking that undercurrent of awareness in his expression, that there was an unknown being too close to them and it was most probably not friendly. "Chekov, can you track the signature?"

"No sir. All ze 'eat signatures are…'ow you say, clump'd togezer."

"All right, spread out," Jim ordered. "Sulu, you and Porter move to that corner. Spock over there, Bones there. Chekov," he added, moving to the last empty corner, "have five of the signatures moved?"

"Yes sir!" Chekov replied excitedly. "I ken see five dots against ze corners of ze room. The only signature remaining is in ze middle of ze room."

"Then it must either be one level or so above us or one level below us," Spock concluded. "What do we do, Captain?"

"We go the hell back to the Arc room and get back to the Enterprise," Leonard bit out firmly. "Jim, we don't know what's out there—"

"Bones, what's gotten into you?" Jim asked, confused at his behavior. "If it's a sentient being—"

"Jim!" Everyone was startled as Leonard's snapped, hazel eyes flashing as the near-by danger inspired him to rush his team back to safety. "Whatever's here has been here _alone _for two hundred years! Think about it! Why is it alone? What was that burnt up thing in the Arc room? _Why _was it burned to death? God damn it man! I'm a doctor, not an explorer, and even I know this doesn't bode well!"

"However strongly Doctor McCoy makes his argument, it is a logical assumption to make, Captain," Spock supported. "I believe it would be best to retreat and report our preliminary findings to Star Fleet. We may base our next move on their orders."

Jim agreed rather easily, Leonard noted, but he's not going to complain. Especially since they were far from being out of the woods. The corridors were filled with vents and passages that made it a tactician's nightmare, and while he remembered the facility's layout quite vividly, he didn't know how the creature thought, and how hungry it was after two hundred years of isolation, so this was still very much a dangerous situation to be in.

They needed a plan. A strategy.

"We'll have to clump together again outside the room," Leonard sighed.

"Why is that, Doctor?" Spock asked, patiently waiting for Leonard to explain his thought process.

"If the mutant makes a grab for any one of us, we can reach for whoever's taken and fire at thing," he expounded reluctantly. "We can save ourselves and injure it at the same time."

"Sir," Porter breathed, eyes wide with trepidation, "you're assuming we'll be taken?"

"We need to be prepared for the worst," Leonard replied easily. "With something unknown out there, we can't risk being optimistic about this. I, for one, don't want to jinx us." The ensign shivered visibly, and Leonard had to wonder why she had been assigned to the away party if she were easily ruffled.

Then again, this was _supposed_ to be a simple recon mission.

And it didn't help that his other three companions were giving him odd looks—Jim, especially, looked like he'd never seen Leonard before. And that stung. He'd always tried his best to be as honest as he could, but Leonard... Well, he didn't know how to be Leonard McCoy without having John Grimm and Reaper hovering around the edges of his persona, so a lot of things went unsaid on his part.

"Jim, any other ideas?" he asked, in an effort to shove the spotlight away from him.

A moment of thoughtful silence passed. "I think I'll leave you in charge of this one, Bones," Jim decided, stroking the fire in Leonard's eyes.

"Goddamn it, Jim! This isn't the time to joke!" he growled.

"I'm not joking," Jim replied in a matter of fact tone—the one he uses just before explaining something that everyone missed, but actually made sense—with a small frown. "You seem to know what you're talking about, and to be honest I'm a little out of my depth here. If I'm going to get this team back on my ship in one piece, then I need your expertise."

Leonard wonders how Jim can hit a nail on the head so accurately. The kid had a talent for spotting strengths and how to utilize them effectively, though he supposed that's why he made a good captain, even before he formally received the _Enterprise_. So he gave up and gave in, because Jim was right, and Leonard wanted everyone to get back safely too.

"Fine." He struggled not to think about Sarge and the last team he'd been on. Olduvai was a curse. It had massacred them all—

Damn it—focus!

His eyes took in the room again, and he knew it would help to filch a few of the guns. Phasers in close quarter combat would be a bad idea, especially since he would insist on setting it to kill. One hit and anyone of them could die, and with Jim's luck… Yeah, twenty-first century guns would be more practical, if not logical, in this scenario. However, out of everyone in the party, he was the only one qualified and experienced to use projectile weaponry.

Shit. Porter with a gun? No fucking way. So Leonard with a gun, check. What else could he use?

Walking over to the racks, he made note of the small brown vials littering the tables, but found none of them usable against a mutant. There were no grenades—and even if there were, he probably shouldn't use them, what with the almost-nuclear bomb in the Arc room and all—but there were plenty of ammo and clips for the guns. So he grabbed two off the rack and laid them on the nearest bare surface to start cleaning them.

"All right," he said as he began to strip the first rifle, "here's what we'll do. Jim, Spock, you'll have your phasers set to the highest non-kill level. That way, if you hit us, we're not dead." He didn't attempt to play ignorant with the guns—now wasn't the time for rookie mistakes—and he spoke as he cleaned, all too aware of the slack-jawed looks his friends had as they watched him handle a twenty-first century weapon with ease. "Sulu, you've got your sword. If it tries to make a grab for us, cut its arms off. _Don't_ make any attempt to stab it or cut its head off. You're in charge of protecting anyone injured. Porter, you're handling those vials," Leonard told her, nodding to the useless brown vials. "Grab as many as you can comfortably hold. If anything comes at us, you throw those vials at it. Understand?"

"What are in the vials?" Porter asked.

"Flammable liquid," he lied easily, finishing with the first gun and moving onto the second. "You throw it, I shoot it, it goes up in flames. Got it?"

"Yes, sir!" she said, looking relieved at her role. Definitely not away-party material.

"Where'd you learn to do all that?" Jim asked, watching him with no small envy. "Can you teach me?"

Hell no. "If you make it back to the ship uninjured, then why the hell not?" Leonard compromised. Maybe _that_ would keep Jim from getting badly hurt this time.

Gearing up, Leonard found himself carrying his medical kit, two guns, several clips of ammo, and a phaser. It made him bulky and movement was stilted, but he'd had worse, and he could keep up.

Hailing Chekov, he asked if the signature had moved.

"Negatif, sir," Chekov answered. "All six signatures are still togezer."

Leonard eyed his companions. "I guess we're ready as we'll ever be." Porter shivered, but attempted to steel herself, so Leonard gave her credit for that. "Let's go."


	3. Chapter 3

The thing was following them, Leonard knew. He didn't need Chekov to tell them that. He could hear it crawling after them, but he couldn't tell where it was coming from. The acoustics in the corridor made it difficult to track.

Tactician's nightmare indeed.

Still, they pressed on—Jim in front and Spock right next to him, Sulu in the middle, with Leonard and Porter closing the group. Their pace was steady but fast, and Leonard could tell Spock had his ears pricked for noise. He could also tell that Spock already knew they were being tailed.

Discreetly, Leonard pulled off his air mask, his enhanced sense of smell immediately assaulted by the stale, moldy air and the sharp cold smell of rot and death. Heaving, Leonard shuddered and noisily gagged at the disgusting stench, making everyone pause to look at him. The creature stopped as well, just a few meters behind them.

"Bones?" Jim asked, moving to break formation to come to his side.

"Stay there," Leonard gasped, raising a hand to emphasize his point and resisting the urge to pull the mask back over his face. The mutant's smell was distinct, and with the air mask off, he could start pinpointing where it was. Definitely somewhere behind them though—the scent was lighter in front of them, so he raised his gun and gestured for Jim to keep moving.

Spock took point this time, his phaser held tightly at his side, ready for action. Jim kept glancing behind to check on Leonard, clearly wondering why he wasn't putting his mask back on and itching to ask about it. Leonard ignored his questioning looks and focused, his senses reaching out in all directions.

Suddenly, the creature disappeared. Shit, it was fast.

Fuck.

Tightening his hold on the gun, he shifted it from his shoulder to hold it with both hands, though he kept his finger away from the trigger.

Funny how old habits die hard.

Spock paused suddenly. "I believe I hear something in the room before us," he announced quietly, and Leonard was impressed at how much sharper Spock's hearing was. A few paces later, he could hear it too.

It was pacing. Waiting for them.

And it only took Leonard a second to realize what room it was in.

"Fuck," he hissed, the unwelcomed memories assaulting him. Ignoring the surprised looks he'd gotten, he flipped open his communicator. "McCoy to Chekov, is there still only one extra heat signature?"

Chekov's reply was prompt. "Affirmatif, Doktor."

"Good," he drawled, shoving his communicator into Porter's hands and pushing aside Spock and Jim.

It was like he'd never left, his fingers easily inputting the codes he needed to open the door. The mutant shrieked and lunged instantly, but Leonard had both rifles at the ready, and he open-fired on the flesh-and-purple-colored predator. Finishing the entire clip into its head and torso and effectively destroying any chance of regeneration, the creature was blown back, displacing a table and eventually stopping just below the display case holding old skeletal remains.

"Oh my God," Porter whimpered in the silent aftermath. "Oh my God!" She easily gave up his communicator when he reached for it, eyes wide as she stared up at the dead creature.

"Chekov, is the signature fading?" Because it didn't hurt to be sure, and being in his personal hell, Leonard definitely had to be _sure_.

"A-aye, Doktor," Chekov sighed. "It eez fading slowly." Leonard relaxed, just as relieved as Chekov sounded.

"What is this place?" Sulu asked aloud, keeping his sword before him as he stepped into the room. To Leonard's displeasure, he wandered right up to the creature, as well as the bone structure John Grimm had seen over two hundred years ago. 'Lucy' and her child looked as if time hadn't passed them at all. "Are these human bones?"

"Humanoid." Ah, shit. He knew this place was a bad idea. Leonard strode over to the display. "We're on Mars, a dead planet, and this place had a dig site. No way could this be human remains, especially since no human's been here for two hundred years."

"I was not aware you read the mission debriefing," Spock mused over the computer Sam had sat in front of so long ago, downloading data she didn't know held proof of unethical human experimentation.

"I don't go anywhere without reading about it first," Leonard replied seriously. "I need to be prepared for any disease or illness we might face.

"Of course," Spock said. "I did not mean to say you were unprepared for possibilities."

Leonard ignored the absent apology Spock didn't say, doing his best to repress the memories of his sister in this room. It felt like she was still there, a ghost haunting both the console and the edges of his sanity.

Jim cleared his throat. "Well, now that we've ascertained that there are no more threats in this facility—" Leonard knew where he was going with this, so he tuned it out. It didn't matter what they planned to do, Leonard had already decided the fate of Olduvai.

It was his right, after all. He and Sam had been born here. He had died here. It was only fitting that he destroyed this place, this hell that has haunted him for two hundred years.

"So!" Jim clapped his hands, clearly done outlining his plan. A quick review told Leonard that Jim wanted to return to the _Enterprise_, and he was only a little surprised that Jim was clearly freaked out by this place. Or perhaps it was Leonard's reactions that had freaked him out. Either way, he couldn't wait to leave. "Shall we?"

It took a mere two minutes to rush back to the beam point. Leonard was glad to breathe in the _Enterprise_'s clean air. After the surprisingly quick debriefing, Leonard stepped into his office, and opened his communicator.

"Ignite."


	4. Chapter 4

While Leonard had focused on finally ending an old nightmare, he hadn't thought of the ramifications of his actions.

It took weeks to settle the Admiralty down, and poor Jim bore the brunt of their anger and disappointment. He was held responsible for the destruction of Olduvai, something that Leonard felt guilty about, and had been suspended while the investigation was underway. But with the facility being no more than a crater on the surface of Mars, there really wasn't any investigation going on. "Witch hunt" would have been a more precise term for it.

For his part, Leonard had been grilled for his actions against an 'unidentified life form.' Apparently, even in the face of death, he was supposed to utilize the Prime Directive, which he knew was complete bullshit. He made sure to tell that to the Council, and it earned him a suspension right beside Jim.

The things he did for the little brat.

"Bones," Jim said quietly one evening. They were lounging around on Jim's balcony, enjoying the sunset illuminating the Golden Gate Bridge, a cooler of Budweiser Classic on the floor between them. But however relaxed Leonard had been, all the zen he'd found in the peaceful atmosphere was immediately chased away by Jim's subdued tone. "I need to tell you something."

_Tell him something? Not ask?_ Leonard relaxed a little. "I'm listening."

Jim sat up and reached for his bag—the one that he'd suddenly started bringing around since his suspension as captain of the _Enterprise_—and from it, he produced a glass vial. Leonard felt the breath get knocked out of his chest as he stared at the familiar label.

_C-24_.

"I've been lying to the Council." Jim placed the vial between his outstretched legs, staring down at it contemplatively. "I found this when we spread out to search the rooms. It was in the lab where you killed the mutant."

Yes, he remembered. Sam had unhooked a vial from the stand, leaving seven other vials in the lab.

"At first I got it so that you could take a look at it and tell me what C-24 was. But then you got all weird, then you killed the mutant and we were all freaked out. I completely forgot about it until after we made our preliminary report and Olduvai exploded."

"So why didn't you give it to me when you remembered it?" Leonard asked, wary of what Jim had been doing with C-24. God, he hoped the kid wasn't stupid enough to experiment with it.

Jim shrugged. "I don't know."

"So why bring this up now?" he bit out, frustrated at Jim but trying to remain indifferent. "Did you want me to test it?"

"I think you already know what it is," Jim responded slowly, making the heavy feeling in Leonard's gut grow. "I think…" He licked his lips and cleared his throat. "Bones, tell me. Talk to me."

"Jim…"

"I need to know what I'm protecting." His tone booked no argument, but there was regret in his eyes when he added, "I need to know what I'm protecting you from."

In retrospect, Leonard probably didn't handle the news of their exploration of Olduvai very well, and he knew he must've left enough clues thanks to his negative emotional state. Leonard also, in that moment, absolutely hated Jim's uncanny talent for piecing a puzzle together. Two hundred and thirteen years of keeping this secret, and a youngling had uncovered half of it in the space of a month.

If it were any other secret and happened to anyone else, Leonard would've been pretty impressed.

It also didn't escape his notice that Jim hadn't seemed to consider _why_ he was protecting Leonard, as if it wasn't even something he had to consider. That was the cincher, really—the way Jim just did things for him for no other reason than because he _cared _about Leonard, because Leonard _mattered_ to Jim.

"Kid," he sighed, resigned at the fact that he was actually going to tell Jim about it all, after more than two hundred years of carrying the secret on his own. "You really don't want to know."

"Maybe," Jim allowed. "But tell me anyway."

Leonard stared at his best friend, and really, Jim was the best person he'd ever had the pleasure of knowing. He wasn't an ignorant innocent who didn't know the dangers of the world and the space beyond it, but neither was he a tainted soul who couldn't see the good things in life. Jim was a child of space, born in the inky blackness in the midst of despair and destruction and death. He was also a contradiction of time—an old soul with a young body and an ageless passion that encompassed his entire being. Jim was Jim, and he was one of the handful of things in this world that Leonard wouldn't want to have missed out on.

Jim… _He could handle it_, Leonard knew. Jim could take the secret, and he would take it to his grave.

"You know me," Leonard began, and the young blond straightened up to give him his full attention. "I don't drink coffee, I eat a lot, and I only sleep six hours every day. I had a nasty divorce with a hell-bitch, and I have a stubborn jackass for a best friend. You know me."

Leonard exhaled heavily, looking away.

"But I wasn't born as Leonard McCoy. And I wasn't always a doctor."

* * *

Leonard left when Jim refused to speak or look at him. He'd clutched the C-24 tightly, giving Leonard no chance to take it away and destroy the damn vial. At least, not without forcing Jim to hand it over, thereby also irrevocably damaging his friendship with the young man.

He knew Jim wouldn't turn it in—knew his best friend well enough to see that Jim only needed some time to absorb the information given to him—so it wasn't that he feared Jim would hand the vial over to the Admiralty, but fear that Jim would do something heroically foolish, like inject it into his own body. He knew Jim was a good person, that he wouldn't turn even if C-24 entered his system, but the past two hundred years wasn't something Leonard should've lived through, and he wasn't going to let Jim curse himself like this.

Like him.

When Jim's name flashed up from his communicator four hours later, he stopped everything he was doing and felt his chest clench with relief.

"_Don't leave_," Jim's tinny but unmistakable voice said through the speaker.

("I can leave, if you want me to go," he'd offered after he was done talking and Jim had nothing to say.

Jim had only kept staring down at the vial in his hand.)

Leonard sighed, closing his eyes as the heaviness in his bones went away. "I won't." There was a chime at his door, and he could hear Jim gasping for air past the metal surface. Leonard dropped the communicator and opened the door, and Jim immediately glanced around the room, his eyes taking in the packed bag on the bed.

"Don't leave," he said again, his tone full of demanding petulance as he clutched at Leonard's shirt and pinned the immortal with blue, blue eyes until Leonard realized he couldn't think straight.

He swears and means it when he says, "I won't."


	5. Chapter 5

Leonard's fingers hovered over the incinerator, the vial held carefully between two fingers. He'd thought of other ways to get rid of the damnable solution—pouring it down the drain (but some idiot might take fall into the sewer system and swallow a mouthful by pure, unlucky accident, so that admittedly stupid idea was out), tossing it into a volcano (but fuck if he knew what the heat would do to it, and with his luck, the volcano itself would mutate and turn into a monster that he _couldn't_ kill, so that was out too), and hell, he even considered injecting it into himself (because he was already infected, but he didn't know what side effects _that_ would cause, so he crossed that off the list as well)—and the only safe option he had was simply incinerating it.

Erase it from existence, just like Olduvai.

Glancing at Jim, he found the other man frowning. Jim had protested his destruction of C-24, because what if they needed it in the future? What if Leonard found someone he just couldn't live without?

Leonard didn't have the heart to tell Jim he'd already found that someone, and he couldn't make Jim go through what he had.

Especially if doing so would be for Leonard's selfish need to not be alone in the universe for the rest of eternity.

"Bones—" Leonard dropped the vial, shutting the lid and pressing the button to destroy it before Jim could tempt him to change his mind (again). Jim gasped and jerked forward, as if to try and save the cursed chemical. But it was too late, and he could watch with mixed emotions as the incinerator flashed and disintegrated the vial and its contents.

Watching it disappear right before his eyes was freeing. Leonard knew it was illogical, as Spock would say, to feel that way, but…

But there was a sense of finality—of closure—that made it all feel so worth it. Knowing that the horror of Olduvai was over and done with…

It was damn near heavenly.

"It's better this way," Leonard said aloud, meeting Jim's gaze. The frayed look in Jim's eyes softened into understanding, and he nodded.

"I guess," Jim allowed, a teasing glint appearing in his eye. "Scared of a little competition, eh Bones?"

Leonard snorted. "Please. I've got two hundred years under my belt. What makes you think I'd _have_ competition?"

Jim grinned. "That superstrength must be useful to have, lugging that huge ego of yours around."

Leonard raised an eyebrow. "It's useful when I have to lug your drunken ass out of whatever bar you stumbled into."

"What are you talking about?" Jim quipped with a mock angelic look. "I'm light as a feather."

"Lightweight's more like it."

Jim's jaw dropped in indignation. "Am not!"

An amused smile tugged at Leonard's lips. "And now we're reduced to a five-year-olds' argument. Wonderful." As Jim bantered back, he was inordinately pleased to see that his friend was back to normal, no longer thinking about the now-destroyed vial of C-24.

It meant a lot to Leonard that Jim had accepted who he really was now that he was over the shock. He did, of course, ask a lot of questions about the past, from the old communications system to the so-called 'primitive' weapons he'd used in the Marines to what kind of toilet Leonard liked the most. And no, that _wasn't_ the most inane question Jim had asked, and no, Leonard wasn't likely to tell anyone what that was, mostly because it felt like he'd lost a few brain cells to it.

Leonard had exhausted his memory banks regaling Jim about the past, shortening only the more painful memories—such as his family, the men he'd lost in Olduvai, and the various not-so-good deeds he'd done for over fifty years after his sister died and left him alone with this horrible secret.

Freeing. Yes, that was definitely what it felt like to have someone know about him again. The fact that it was Jim made it so much more meaningful, because Jim…

Well, he was the first real friend Leonard had made in two hundred years. Real, because while he felt fond of the other friends he'd made, they hadn't really _known_ him—known who he was and what he'd done and where he's been and will be and why…

Why he wouldn't ever die easily, like they would.

Jim Kirk was his best friend. Possibly the only best friend he'd ever know. And now that the vial was destroyed, there was no way Leonard could keep him forever.

That realization, now that it was all said and done, was the most painful thing Leonard had ever felt.

* * *

_Two hours after the destruction of the C-24 vial..._

After Leonard had nodded off in the guest bedroom, Jim locked his door and darkened the windows, shutting off the vidcams that were installed for his protection before heading over to his bed.

Leonard had once commented on it, calling it a monstrosity and asking Jim why the hell his bed frame was so huge, thick and obnoxious. In reply, Jim had referred to the usual nocturnal activities all sexual creatures loved to do, citing that a 'sturdy bed was necessary for maximum enjoyment' or other some such nonsense. Well, it wasn't _completely_ nonsense, but the truth was, Jim hadn't brought a girl to this room since he was awarded captaincy of the _Enterprise._

In any case, sex wasn't the main reason why he had such a bulky bed frame.

Not many knew this about him, but Jim was a fan of the classics. He was impulsive and unpredictable, yes, but that was when he had to improvise. His best laid plans however were all taken from the masters, and his best kept secrets were all scurried away in classic, timeless hiding places—such as his headboard.

Easing open a piece of the wooden panel, Jim pressed his thumb into the built-in screen, and a moment later, a soft hiss was heard as a part of the headboard slid open. Jim glanced at the door, wondering if Leonard had heard that near-quiet sound with his enhanced hearing. When nothing happened, he replaced the panel and sat back to stare contemplatively at the six vials in the safe.

All labeled C-24.

* * *

The End.


End file.
